Fading Quickly
by Roman Tudor
Summary: It's been 2 months since Lanshiang-since he died. Since he woke up alive. He's back and working with the B.S.A.A. still but is he really OK? (Post 6 fic)


_"Losing my mind, Gasping for life."_ - Broken Iris (Broken Inside)

**A/N:** This is one of my more-feel-y pieces. Not a very happy one at all. But I have been meaning to write and so here it is. Aftermath to his death. Thank you for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Piers Nivans-if I did he would have never died and we'd not have all these feels about his death. Capcom owns unfortunately.

_The edges of his vision were blurred, but he could see the escape pod had made it safely away from the facility. Good. Then this wouldn't be for nothing. Steel green unfocused for a moment, body doubling over with effort as he was racked with pain. Death was painful, something he had expected. He just hadn't expected it to be like this. The one good arm he had wrapped around his middle, the muscles beneath contorting with spasms as he turned away from where he had parted from his Captain._

_Blackness. It swarmed his vision and took over until he had no sense of where he was. Could have lasted minutes-or even years-but he suspected it wasn't quite so long. Next time his vision returned he found himself in a non-descript room, rumbling around him as the world ate itself and roared for his own demise-to eat him too. Not long now. he thought with a humorless chuckle that made his insides feel like jello. Copper filled his senses, dripping as he shuffled himself over to a wall and slumped down it._

_Fingers flexed, gripping his uniform as he leaned his head back. Muscles were ripped and there was a sensation he didn't want to name. But he didn't pay it any attention. Eyes peered at the door he had apparently come through as he attempted to relax as much as he could. There was no stopping this-his death-his end. He just wished it had been different. No regrets, not even that, though. All he wanted now was to lay here and die in peace-from what he had gathered this place would be gone before he could wake up as one of those things. Which was fine with him, he wanted to die at least a little human._

_Breathing shallow. His eyelids were growing heavier, death sent the sandman to close them before He sucked his soul away. That was fine. Let him come._

A jolt to his system, his body sitting up rigidly in the bed like lightning had struck his spine and set it. Hands pushed hard down into the mattress, fingers twisting in the material covering it with a death grip. Shudders racked his frame as he gasped for the life he felt had surely been sucked away from him. A cold sweat had broken out across his skin, dripping down it and soaking his bed sheets and comforter. Why couldn't he breathe? Had he really lost his life just now?

No, he hadn't. As his vision finally focused and he looked around he saw that he was in his bedroom. With how his curtains blocked out just about any sunlight he wasn't sure of the time. But he couldn't get his body to cooperate yet, the muscles were taut with strain, almost as if he expected to burst into mutation at any moment and for death to find him by way of bullet after he got out and began slaughtering anything in sight. The very thought made his stomach clench and his throat tighten.

It wasn't death that scared him. The thought of what he could be capable of if the virus ever showed up in his system again was what terrified him. Another shuddering breath as he was able to finally get his fingers to let go of the sheets beneath him and move his body. His hands were almost cramped from how tightly he'd been gripping; simply flexing them and allowing them to crack helped. Legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet landing on the cold carpet below.

On the bedside table his phone lay, screen dark until he picked it up and gingerly swipped a finger across it. The time read 3:35 am, and he had only gotten to sleep about an hour and a half ago after finishing up some paperwork. What he really hated? This wasn't the first time he'd woken in the middle of the night after dreaming about his last moments. They were all he remembered at the end of the Lanshiang mission, all he remembered before he'd been saved by whatever or whoever.

"Fuck." the word was a raspy growl, filled with exhaustion and almost broken. He was so weak- yes soldiers suffered from PTSD all the time from the things they had to do and witness on the battlefield. But shouldn't he be stronger than that? Shouldn't he be able to completely toss the memories aside like all the others and just move on, continue working? It wasn't that simple it seemed-nearly dying never was. So he shouldn't be surprised that he was having these nightmares and fears-it was natural. But that didn't make him feel less weak.

A deep breath in through the nose, lung expanding against rib-cage and making it feel like they could feel his heart racing still. Maybe he could catch a little more sleep, try to forget everything for a couple more hours before work. Because no matter how much sleep he got in a night he always got up and went into work around seven and started his paperwork. The B.S.A.A.'s board had wanted him to take time off and maybe get some counciling after what had happened-even Chris wondered if he should. He couldn't do it though. Work was his life practically.

It had been two months since he'd gotten back. Two months of testing and careful watching-like he'd go beserk and kill every agent on base or something. Not that he could blame them-most of his fellow agents looked at him curiously, a little suspiciously. But nothing hostel so far. The board though, and the lab workers all viewed him with a good deal-it drove him crazy at times. Yet there wasn't anything he could do about it; nothing but prove he was the same person before he'd left on that mission. The same person since the end of it.

Wiping the sweat from his brow he turned and lifte his legs back up onto the bed again. If he kept letting his thoughts race he'd never get back to sleep. So he laid bacck down, eyes closing and muscles gradually relaxing. Maybe if he was lucky he'd avoid another nightmare and get some dreamless sleep. He hoped so.

_(Because deep down inside there's something that waits to be broken.)_


End file.
